


Of amnesia

by tintedsushi



Category: Given (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Heavy Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 15:42:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tintedsushi/pseuds/tintedsushi
Summary: Or the times Haruki forgot exactly how many times he attempted to confess to Akihiko, but never did."Each time I forget, my heart has the power to remember everything."





	Of amnesia

_13 October, 3.52 p.m._

Haruki was going to do it today. He must do it. He _will_ do it.

_I will do it._

Haruki registered this simple yet inexplicably frightening phrase of a mere four words in his heart, tossed the idea around in his head all day, and weighed the pros and cons of it as candidly as he could. He all but imprinted this sordidly bold (at least to him) act of a mantra in his brain. He pondered the proceedings of the scenario in as many ways as his brain could muster, his heart wild in his chest and his mouth dry as sandpaper.

_I can't do it._

It was 4 o'clock. Almost time for band practice, but not quite. Haruki needed to make it to the studio at least an hour early to calm his throttling nerves, steady his racing heart, gather his blur of thoughts, and muster whatever minute sliver of courage he has in his pathetic being to just do it. He was a wreck. The thought of Akihiko made him want to empty his racing thoughts and rid all expectations of this unbearably daunting task by just forgetting about it all.

He had misplaced his guitar pick again. He let out a muttered curse under his breath as he shoved his years old electric guitar into his case. He'd had to borrow from Akihiko again. Haruki didn't know if that was a curse or blessing, and didn't bother to contemplate any further. He was tired from all the scattered thoughts that littered his mind the day before, constantly chipping away at the confines of his consciousness and robbing an entire night's worth of sleep.

Haruki eyed his guitar ruefully, which was sticking haphazardly out of the ragged guitar case, forgotten momentarily in the haze of memory lane unfolding in Haruki's mind. The edge of his worn Pacifica was lined with a jumble of crosshatch scratches from all the times he hastily pushed his way backstage to do last-minute tuning, the guitar over his shoulder scraping harshly against the concrete brick wall of the town theatre.

There was a neon-pink gothic sticker of a screaming, yellowed skull next to the strings on the hardback wood, the edges frayed as if moth-bitten and peeling halfway back across the pick guard. Mafuyu had given it to him a few months ago after their last gig of the season in Shinjuku as a jokingly theatrical, "apologetic" gift, after having stolen his part of the bridge in "Purgatorium" and leaving Haruki standing open-mouthed and abashed in the middle of the stage, fingers gripping the neck of his guitar tightly in embarrassment. He resented Mafuyu for that momentarily awkward stage moment, in a good-natured and brotherly type of way. He still couldn't comprehend what part of himself would make Mafuyu think he'd be into goth, or anything edgy for that matter, but often caught himself appreciating how well the bright magenta colour complemented the slick, dark oak of the guitar body.

His guitar looked old and battered, a thin layer of dust coating the surface of the bruised wood. The only part void of dirt and dust was the headstock, gleaming pristinely under the cold, flickering light of the sole gas lamp in Haruki's bedroom. He had already fine-tuned his guitar that morning, but still brushed his fingers across the strings once more for good measure, then smoothed a thumb across the skull sticker for luck and zipped the case the rest of the way before flinging it over his shoulder.

The weight of the guitar rested comfortably against his spine and thudded gently against the small of his back as the 3.17pm train bound for Sasazuka Station lurched its way along the tracks. He had given up on reciting what he was going to say to Akihiko. That was ironic of Haruki, as he was not the type to wing things, but he thought maybe some situations needed just pure luck and rawfully, albeit painfully, honest delivery of emotions to make things work. Unfiltered. Careless. Foolish. Besides, the knowledge of Akihiko as a carefree, sometimes almost brazen even, type of person soothed him a little.

He thought of the times Akihiko plopped down next to him at the studio balcony during smoke break from band practice and offered to light his cigarette for him from just the smoldering end of his stick, the rolled up filter paper hanging loosely, almost temptingly, from his lips, and how Haruki always amicably declined and conjured up a stupid excuse so he wouldn't give away his feelings through the heat radiating off his warmed cheeks. Or the times Akihiko eased his fingers through the strands of his hair in an almost absent-minded manner and worried the ends between his thumb and forefinger, unknowingly making Haruki's stomach vault.

He was coming apart. Haruki sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and then let it out again, the rushed air tingling his gums and setting his nerves ablaze again. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted the stars dotting his vision, a pulsing mass of twinkling pinpricks across a black canvas. The handlebar melded painfully with the flesh of his palm in a white-knuckled grip, as if Haruki letting go would cause him to succumb to a hopelessly precarious state of flouncing panic. A numbing pain began to creep its way steadily up his fingers, and unbeknownst to him, Haruki inevitably relished in the oddfully calming sensation of it, of how it conveniently provided a distraction from all the bewildered thoughts in his head and lulled the rushing blood coursing through his veins.

Haruki snapped his eyes open and squinted against the harsh electric lights of the train carriage. A baby was bawling, his bib coming loose and flapping briskly in the drafty air-conditioning. It looked damp and gross. It reminded Haruki of how when Akihiko sneezed, he would grab the front of Haruki’s shirt and brashly drag it across his nose in an attempt to clear the snot, and Haruki would complain about how he’d have to wash that shirt three more damn times because Akihiko’s snot was special and culminated with endemic germs only known to thrive within Akihiko alone and no one else. Akihiko had never laughed harder, and Haruki had never felt warmer. He did not wash the shirt since.

_Stop thinking, Haruki. You fucking pathetic shit._

Haruki thought of Akihiko the rest of the way until the train screeched to a halt at Shinjuku station.

_4:47p.m._

Haruki suddenly felt short of breath, his hands were unnaturally clammy and his feet were working double time, unrelentingly pushing him onwards to the dingy studio around the corner. He somehow felt as if he was going to be late, even though this thought was outright refuted by the digital screen of his watch boldly displaying the time.

_That can't be right. I was running late. Wasn't I?_

Haruki's thoughts were becoming muddled, his head swimming in a state of panicked catatonia. A sudden wave of nausea enveloped him and he hastily dragged the back of his hand across his damp brow. Pushing back the bile rising quickly in his throat, the boy swung the door of the studio wide open and all but clambered into the small, cluttered space. The voracious monster clawing at his gut was becoming even more fervent; the jarring pain blending with the anxiety threatening to knock his senses over was almost enough to make Haruki vomit. His hand absently drifted to the hem of his sweater, fingers curling over the soft woolen material in a vice-tight grip. _Where the hell was he?_

His eyes swept the room in a haze of alarm, as if the very being he was looking for would vanish in an instant if he had not been found soon; the very caricature of a certain man with tall, muscled stature and sandy, crinkle-cut hair; his warm, calloused fingers toying with the end of a lit cigarette, carelessly inked skin peeking through the black cotton material of his shirt while the smooth metal of his lip ring glinted unabashedly under the electric lights of the studio as his lips curled into a coy smirk… all that illustrious, brazen, rendered beauty of the man Haruki loved, gone. His gaze combed the room hurriedly, darting from the stacks of 90's rock records scattered haphazardly across the carpet, to the old backup guitars and lone violin case standing quietly in the corner, tattered and way past its prime. _Didn't someone here use to play the violin?_

"Akihiko?"

His voice was hoarse and his throat felt so bruised, as if the strength of projecting even a sliver of noise would rip his vocal cords out in a merciless trade for any chance of serendipity left. Haruki hoped, prayed for Akihiko to reply, hell, even just a whisper would be sufficient to sate this piteous desperation eating him alive. The ache in his gut was unbearable and the stars beginning to blot out his vision were mixing with the liquid blur of tears. He cursed brusquely under his breath as he stumbled into the balcony, his lungs expelling air at a quicker rate this time as he struggled to breathe. He heard his sneakers squeaking against the concrete as his legs suddenly gave way and his hips made jarring contact with the ground, the pain shooting up his side and making it harder to draw air into his lungs. But Haruki found that he didn't mind anymore of the pain, didn't give a crap about the breathlessness or the deep-seated, persistent craving to seek, because he had found the person he was looking for.

Akihiko was there, his lean frame draped casually over the railing of the balcony, cigarette in one hand. He was so close. Haruki tried to call his name again, but his voice had abandoned him. Still, somehow, it was as if Akihiko knew Haruki was there behind him on the ground, silently begging for him to turn around and see him, so he did.

"Haruki?"

The voice Haruki heard had something off, as if it was somehow tuned wrongly; the words carried an uncanny pitch and were laced with more reproach than any sort of true warmth. It wasn't Akihiko's voice. He could not see Akihiko's face either, as if a clouded veil of deception was masking his features, muddling the surreptitious blue tint of his eyes into a sea of impregnable black and carving his lips into a beseechingly carnal sneer. Haruki felt his insides turn, the nausea overwhelmingly strong now as he squeezed his eyes shut and forced them open again.  
_Akihiko, please..._

Akihiko was gone.

His sense of hearing was slowly dissipating, scattered pockets of noise seeping away into the stuffy air of the studio as Haruki's vision collapsed. He caught remnants of a conversation from people he didn't know, strangers he was sure as hell he'd never seen before. Amidst the cacophony of tumultuous white noise blaring in his head, Haruki realised he didn't care to know how they had managed to get into the rented studio without a key, or why they all had matching stickers on the guitars they were holding. Somehow, the stickers looked familiar, with the loud pink background and the dirty-yellow skull staring aimlessly into his soul. He registered the warmth of skin against his back and didn't bother to fight back.

"Ah shit, it happened again-"

"Yeah, twice every month for almost a goddamn year. Help him up and stop fucking complaining, you ass-"

"I wasn't complaining. He forgot to take his medication again, after we told him to so many times!"

_What the hell were they talking about?_

Haruki had forgotten. The memory of that hellish night that reeked of pungent engine smoke, scorched rubber and the unforgettable, metallic scent of blood, his own blood running cold when he saw the motorbike plunged headfirst into the sheer cliff face near the coast, the shattered headlights reflecting the barbed image of a body on the ground; the body of the person he loved was lying still and cold amidst the scattered glass on the bruised asphalt of the highway, his blazer ripped violently down the seams and painted a gnarly red; the colour of his eyes were muted to a despairingly pale, cornfield blue and _so_ unseeing it made Haruki shiver…  
The memory of it all was erased cleanly from Haruki's head, as quickly and cruelly as Akihiko had been snatched away from him on that cold December night.

_18 November, 1:12p.m._

Haruki was going to do it. He must do it. He _will_ do it.

_I will do it._

Haruki made sure the words were rooted in his heart, heavy and cumbersome yet they felt as light and forthcoming as the telltale signs of a warm spring day. They were clear and refreshing, holding the inherent propensity to liberate and restart everything, yet sometimes the words tasted bitter in the corner of Haruki's mouth, as if he masticated on them for too long. They somehow felt foreign and familiar at the same time; the words were like a mantra that stuck with Haruki all through his life and yet never really surfaced in his mind, a can of beans that were never thought to be opened until the dreary beginnings of winter. Those words held the capability of bridging gaps and warming hearts, yet it was disturbingly odd how Haruki could somehow place that they also carried the weight of a certain cynical nature, a bizarre longing to destroy, to displace and incapacitate everything Haruki ever knew and loved in his life…

He was going to be late for band practice, so Haruki stopped thinking and left his apartment quickly, running all the way to the train station with the weight of his guitar assaulting the small of his back and the abominable words of the confession tucked quietly into the folds of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy (^//-//^) thank you for reading this one! I know it's kinda sad, but oh well i do it for the suckers-for-angst, me included aha. Anyways, I fell in love with the Given manga about a month ago and I just knew I had to write a fic for my favourite ship, Akihiko x Haruki. The character development and subplots are really good, I enjoy reading this manga so much.  
Leave anything you wanna say below and as always, until the next fic, my beautiful readers! xx


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